The Dark Half
by TheHipDeathGoddess
Summary: The story of exile, dragons, and an old enemy returned. Spoiler Warning! The authoress strongly advises you read her stories My Envied Lady (Part 1) and The Fairest Thing (Part 2) before continuing with The Dark Half (Part 3). You may be confused, and find some major spoilers if you start with Part 3. You have been warned! Rated T for violence, adult situations and mild language.
1. Chapter 1: Followers

**_Spoiler Warning!_**** The authoress strongly advises you read her stories ****My Envied Lady**** (Part 1) and ****The Fairest Thing**** (Part 2) before continuing with ****The Dark Half**** (Part 3). You will be confused, and stumble upon some major spoilers if you start with Part 3. You have been warned!**

* * *

_"All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand Enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you; digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed."_

_― Richard Adams, Watership Down_

The monastery had once been a peaceful, comforting place. Run by an order dedicated to healing, it served as a hospital for the remote, hilly countryside. All that changed when the plague came. When they took in the first few people complaining of a sudden fever, they did not expect a disease that spread like wildfire, ravaging the compound. It was said the last survivors fled in terror of the sickness, leaving the dead unburied. The buildings fell into disrepair and the once well-tended herb gardens became overgrown with weeds and brambles. Not long after, rumors began circulating about the place. That it was haunted, that it was cursed, that demons and monsters had taken up residence there. A decade passed, and the travelers who once avoided the monastery due to disease now avoided it for fear of its evil reputation.

It was as Chloderic wanted it. He and his "order" had taken up residence in the abandoned monastery, cleaned it, rebuilt parts of it, and set up their own industry there. His product was a closely guarded secret, as was his list of clientele. It was a rare product in high demand, and for the right price, a delivery could be arranged. Until the day the dragons appeared in the countryside.

* * *

The weather had become quite cold, and the sky was iron-grey most days. Johan had spent two weeks in the Free City of Freiestadt, trying to figure out where to go next before storms made travel impossible. There were many places where the people would welcome him; he had made numerous friends during his adventures, but he turned each option over in his mind and quickly ruled it out. Primarily because were he to go those places, he would need to explain why he needed to seek refuge there, and he did not want to have to relive that embarrassment or heartbreak again.

It was dark already, and the inn began to fill with other patrons seeking refuge for the night. Most of them ignored Johan; though he no longer wore the crest of the Good King, he still stood out as a nobleman and a knight, albeit one who had fallen on hard times.

He thought he heard a familiar voice say his name, though no one here knew him. It wasn't the first time; sadness and desperation had made him think he'd caught a glimpse of Savina or heard her voice several times as he wandered through the city streets in search of a refuge or adventure to pass the winter months. Each sighting had ended in disappointment and a bitter reminder that he could never see her, at least not until spring.

But he refused to give up hope that they would be together again; him, Savina and their child. _I'm going to be a father._ He'd always imagined that phrase would bring him unspeakable joy, but instead it taunted him, reminding him of just how much he'd lost.

There was that voice again! Not Savina's, Peewit's this time. But why would Peewit be here? He was still in relatively good standing in the court.

"Well, if you haven't seen him, is there room for me to stay the night here? I can entertain the guests; I'm a court minstrel, you know…I can? Oh, you won't be sorry!"

The sounds of a lute being tuned, or rather, un-tuned drifted through the smoky air. Several guests moved from their tables to see what this minstrel was going to play. A shrill voice began to sing:

_Dog goes woof  
Cat goes meow  
Bird goes tweet  
and mouse goes squeak…_

Johan pulled himself from his sorrow and pushed through the crowd to the hearth. Such sounds could only come from one person. It was Peewit, signing some terrible new composition to a crowd of startled people. As Peewit began the first "chorus" of his song, the crowd began to grumble, but he played on. Johan slid between two angry drunk men and grabbed Peewit by the collar, dragging him outside, lute still in hand.

"Let me go! How dare you interrupt my mus-Oh! Johan! It's you! I found you!" He stopped struggling and embraced his friend.

"What are you doing here, Peewit? Why didn't you stay at the castle?"

"I went looking for you, of course! I wasn't going to let you face exile alone."

"The king let you?"

"He wasn't happy about it, but I insisted. I even sold some of my instruments to pay for the journey. You wouldn't believe how many buyers I got to take them off my hands! Even Dame Barbara bought something!"

"I can imagine. How long-"

Johan was cut off as a crossbow bolt whipped past his face and embedded itself in the doorpost of the inn. He immediately went into a defensive position, drawing his sword and scanning the darkness for the source of the shot. Peewit yelped and dived behind him.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!"

Johan was answered by the faint click and twang of a small crossbow being reloaded and shot. He ducked just in time, the bolt catching his sleeve. He tore himself free and ran back inside the inn, with Peewit scampering behind.

"That's the first time anyone has ever tried to _assassinate_ me for my singing!" Peewit gasped as soon as they were safe behind the heavy oak door.

"I'm not sure they were aiming for you, Peewit, though you probably should give the innkeeper some money since I don't think your song was enough to warrant a free night's stay. I'm not sure why, but I think those shots were for me." Oh, there were plenty of reasons. In addition to friends, Johan had made some bitter enemies. But why try to kill him here and now?

The innkeeper forgot about Peewit's offensive music as soon as Johan told him there was a sniper in the street. Having a guest killed in the doorway would do his business more harm than a bad musician would. They cautiously went to the doorway and looked for the bolts, but they were gone, leaving only greasy pits in the wood. The reunited friends decided that it would be best to stay inside until morning.

* * *

"You missed twice! Our Master is paying you good money and you missed twice?" The dark figure hissed, inside a dark, filthy tavern in a different part of the city.

"He was too quick! He's not an easy one to hit like those rich old men you've been sending me after. And besides, I got the bolts back. I'll get him next time. I didn't even know he was there until he grabbed his friend; there's no mistaking King Pepin's Jester."

"Good. At least you're not a total failure. Those bolts are as rare as gold dust. The supply of them dried up just recently. You waste those, I won't be able to get you any more!"


	2. Chapter 2: Safety

The two youths made their way through the city streets cautiously the next morning, to report the assassin to the city magistrates and begin their daily search for a way to pass the winter. The only other option was to stay in the city and defend it from any attackers, which would require an oath of loyalty to Freiestadt and its charter. Not exactly the way for someone already seen as a traitor to get back into the King's good graces.

Johan explained the process to Peewit, who nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of seeking adventures on the open road again. It would be like the good old days. This cheered Johan considerably, and they were both in good spirits when they heard the cloth merchants telling people about the dragons.

"Did you say there were dragons? Where?"

"They've come down from the hills to the south. Rumor has it they've already killed several people."

"How many are there?"

"I don't know. I've heard anywhere from three to twenty. You know how stories like this get exaggerated."

"You say they've killed people?"

"Probably. The peasants I saw said so. There's been a lot of disappearances that they've been blaming on the dragons. They said they seem to prefer livestock and people for food, and they carry them off. Also told me they fly, so they stay inside as much as possible, especially at night. I don't know how much of it I believe; there haven't been any dragons anywhere near here since my great-grandfather was alive."

"Still…it does seem like something worth investigating, doesn't it Peewit?" Johan smiled for the first time since Peewit had found him here.

"Oh, no. We're not going to spend the winter chasing man-eating dragons! I haven't even gotten to do anything fun here!"

"Fun? Someone tried to kill me last night, and then you spent the equivalent of two weeks' lodging on food and ale. I can't afford to keep you here having fun."

The two argued about it a little longer. Johan had made up his mind, and Peewit desperately tried to think of something, anything to dissuade him.

"Please, sir, have you any food to spare for a poor old man?" A ragged beggar tugged on Johan's cloak. Peewit thought he had seen the man earlier, begging by a fruit vendor's stall, but he could have been mistaken.

"I haven't got any food to spare," Johan eyed Peewit, "But let me see if I have a few pennies…" Johan turned to the pouch on his belt to look, while Peewit kept his eyes on the strangely familiar beggar.

"Oh, bless you, kind sir, bless you!" he reached into the layers of ragged clothing he wore as protection against the winter cold. It was a quick, practiced movement; Peewit almost didn't notice the shiv he concealed in his gloved hands.

"Johan, look out!" The knight spun around to see a greasy black wooden steak plunge upward at his neck. He dodged just in time to avoid it. The man lunged at him and the two fell struggling on the cobblestones, a crowd gathering. Johan was able to knock the shiv from the beggar's hand as the magistrate's guards arrived to question the three and take the beggar away. The guards did not question the young mens' testimony. As the city grew, muggings of this sort were unfortunately becoming more common. They were warned to avoid all riffraff, and sent on their way.

Johan and Peewit were less convinced that this was a random mugging. Chasing potential dragons in the countryside was looking more and more appealing, even to Peewit. They quietly returned to the inn and gathered their things and their mounts, wasting no time in getting out of Freiestadt.

* * *

"What do you mean it's not safe to travel because of _dragons_?"

"It's true, my lady, the merchants coming in and out of Freiestadt are reporting dragons in the area. There are rumors among the peasants in the area as well. If merchants are being cautious on the roads, it's hardly a safe place for a Princess, especially one who'd expecting."

"Well, that settles it! She will just have to stay here!"

The king tried to sound disappointed, but in truth he wanted his niece to stay close by. It was Dame Barbara who wanted to send her to a convent after she and Prince Andrew broke off their engagement, claiming it was the only proper place for a girl in her condition. The King missed Peewit and especially Johan. The castle would be dreadfully lonely with Savina gone, too, even if all she did was mope most of the time. Of course, if not for Johan, there would be no need to even discuss sending her to a convent. They would all still be here together.

After his initial anger at the boy had subsided, he began to worry about his former squire. He really did want him to return, despite all the trouble and hurt he'd caused. Dame Barbara would be livid if he ever returned. She had pressured him to make his banishment longer, but he couldn't do it; not to Johan, who he saw like a son, or to Johan's father Sir Edelhart, who he still considered a good friend after everything that had happened. He especially couldn't do that to Savina. He had never seen her so miserable.

"We will need to keep an eye out for these dragons, though. Freiestadt is several days' ride from here, but if those dragons can fly like Count Tremaine says, we will need to be on alert."


	3. Chapter 3: Dragons

Johan and Peewit weren't sure how long they followed reports of dragons around the countryside. Each time, it seemed they were too late to catch even a glimpse of one, though they were left with no doubt they had been there. They would find the remains of an animal carcass, a few scraps of cloth, and always strange bluish-grey plumes. Nothing was ever burned, as would have been expected, these creatures only seemed interested in killing and eating. They were fast moving, too, making the search even more difficult. No one had ever seen the dragons, as they seemed to only be active at night.

They were not the only ones on the dragons' trail; several other knight-errants had come to pursue the dragon sightings. Mostly they were the younger sons of noblemen and destined not to inherit anything and searching for some other way to earn fame and fortune. As the days passed into weeks, they grew bored and moved on to more attractive prospects. By the time the first snowfall dusted the hills, only one of them remained, a young man about Johan's age named Sir Gilbert.

They were camped out at an abandoned farmhouse, near the border in King Gerard's lands. The farm had sat empty for a long time, the roof had partially caved in, and the forest was slowly creeping back into the long-neglected fields. The whinnies of Gilbert's frantic horse broke the dawn silence.

It was still in saddle and tack, and it galloped through the fog and the crumbling gate, startling the humans from a fitful slumber. Bundled up against the cold, the two rose and followed the hoofprints through the quickly melting snow.

Through the bare branches and dry leaves they saw them - four dragons in an ancient oak tree. "Dragon" was at least the closest approximation of what you could call these creatures. At the shoulder they were about the height of deer, but long and lean, with four bird-like legs ending in clawed feet and feathered wings above their shoulders. At the end of long necks were small heads filled with sharp teeth, and they had long broad tails that were also covered with blue-grey striped feathers. There was no sign of Gilbert, but the creatures busily groomed themselves like cats who had just eaten. They looked up in unison when the two boys can crashing into the clearing, and began to spread their wings while making strange clacking noises at each other.

Briefly frozen by the strange scene, Johan wasted no time stringing his bow and taking aim for one of the creatures. The arrow flew and hit a smaller, more brightly-colored beast in the abdomen. It shrieked, causing the other creatures to take flight, the wounded one close behind.

"Keep your eye on them, Peewit, we can't let them get away!" They raced through the woods, across a shallow river, and into a field, never taking their eyes off of the mysterious feathered dragons. Johan loosed another arrow at the wounded one, taking aim for what he hoped was a vital area, right behind the front leg. The beast faltered, and began to drop; the shot must have hit. As the humans closed in on the fallen dragon, the other three descended too, surrounding them.

"Can we fight three of them, Johan?"

"It looks like we'll have to," Johan replied, nocking another arrow. The largest of the creatures, one whose stripes were the faintest, let out a warning hiss as it stood over the body of the fallen dragon, who was breathing heavily.

"Th-they don't breathe fire, do they?"

"Let's hope they can't."

But before that theory was put to the test, all three surviving dragons wheeled their heads around at the sound of rustling grass. Two figures in red and tan robes were running towards them, shouting excitedly. The dragons, or whatever they were, raised hackles that extended from the top of their heads down the lengths of their backs and quickly took flight again, leaving Johan and Peewit bewildered.

"You killed it!" exclaimed one of the robed figures.

"Oh, the Abbot's not going to like this. One of the males, too," replied the other one. They rushed to the creature as if Johan and Peewit were invisible.

"Excuse me, but how do you know about these…dragons?" Johan asked as he lowered his bow and dismounted.

One of the robed figures looks up at him.

"I'm sorry to be rude. My friend and I are humble monks. We study rare creatures like this, and we were so hoping to see one alive. We've been trailing them, you see."

"Rare or not, those creatures killed a companion of mine, and probably many other people. They're very dangerous."

"Really?" The first man replied, dumbfounded. He and his companion exchanged nervous looks at each other.

"We had no idea! Fascinating! We must take the carcass back to our monastery immediately and study it further. Would you mind finding us a cart? I'm sure the Abbot will want to speak to you as well, given that you saw them feeding and were able to take one down!"

"With all due respect to your…studies, I think this is a matter best handled by the king."

The monks looked at each other again, and then shrugged.

"If you two would be so kind as to report this to King Pepin, that would be wonderful, but we really need to take this creature back to our Abbot."

"King Pepin? Why would I go to him?"

"This is the Kingdom of Hauvon, isn't it?"

"…Is it?" He did cross a river in their pursuit, not thinking about its significance…

"We passed some guards wearing the black and white chevron shield on the way here, didn't we Phillip?"

"That we did, Huard."

"Peewit, we have to leave, right now."

"But what about the –"

"Right _now_! Before those guards come!" Johan unstrung his bow and mounted Bayard frantically.

"But…"

"I'll explain later, across the river!"

"Later! You always say that!" Peewit cried as he followed his friend back into the woods, leaving Brother Huard and Brother Phillip with the dead dragon.

"Well, getting rid of them was easier than I'd expected!"

"Yes, I wonder what set the black haired one off like that? Abbot Chloderic might be more interested in our strange friends than in the dragon."

* * *

"What do you mean, he was killed by a black haired boy and a blonde dwarf?" Abbot Chloderic was more angry than amused.

"Did they tell you their names?"

"No, sir, but the tall one took off as soon as he learned he was on King Pepin's land. He rode a dapple grey horse and his friend was riding a nanny goat."

"I should have known. Of all the people in Hauvon, you idiots stumble into Johan and Peewit!"

"I take it you know them, sir?"

"Yes. Johan was the King's squire back when I was the royal potion-maker, and the dwarf was his jester. They're the ones responsible for my being sentenced to hard labor until I managed to escape, and uh, find religion."

"But if Johan is the King's squire, why did he look so afraid of him today?"

"That's an interesting question, Brother Huard. I think I'll come with you to track down the other three dragons and ask them. If I know Johan, I know he won't give up looking for man-eating dragons."

* * *

_"Until three days after the First of Spring of the coming year, you are banished from this Kingdom. If I learn you have returned for any reason, you will be arrested. Prove to me that you can be trusted, and you will be welcomed back."_

Johan glumly gathered their things from the abandoned farmhouse. They had combed the woods after crossing back over the river with no sign of Gilbert to be seen, other than his sword, a cloak pin, and a half-chewed boot.

"We'll have to go to Gilbert's family and tell them what happened," Johan murmured.

"And not chase the dragons anymore?"

"No. We can't. _I_ can't."

"….Because you'll be arrested if you do." It was more a statement than a question.

"Do you think the king will find out who shot the dragon?"

"I hope not. Hopefully those two strange monks will take it back to their abbot after all. They acted like they were up to something. I wish I could go find out what it was."

Peewit helped pack up the camp at the farmhouse in silence. Having his banishment prevent him from pursuing the mystery of both the monks and the dragons did not put Johan in a very sociable mood. It was afternoon, and the snow began to fall again. The two friends rode to the nearest town to look for a warm place to eat.


	4. Chapter 4: Schadenfreude

"Well, what a surprise to see you two here!"

Johan and Peewit were eating at an inn in a small town. It so happened that the late Sir Gilbert was the son of one of King Randolph's vassals. Duty bound them to go and deliver the news of his demise to his family, though it was an awkward situation like this that Johan and Peewit had been dreading.

They were approached by Prince Andrew, smiling warmly. He stood out from the farmers and townspeople who filled the inn; his butter-yellow hair was perfectly groomed and he was decked out in a luxurious vair-lined mantle and brocade tunic. Johan and Peewit looked ragged and disheveled by comparison, and they politely beckoned him to join them.

"What brings you to my father's lands? What have you been up to?"

"I should ask you the same. I'd have thought you'd be preparing for a…wedding." Peewit noticed a hint of contempt in his friend's voice.

"Oh! Didn't you hear? No, it was called off two months ago." He lowered his voice and moved closer to the two exiles. "I'm actually here because my father wasn't one bit pleased about it. I decided I'd get away from him and get to know the people I'm going to be ruling someday. But it was a mutual agreement between us. She's pining for you, and I don't want to be the one to stand in the way. I'm sure everyone else will think I cast her aside because of the pregnancy, but please understand, it's not like that at all."

Johan became visibly less tense as the news sunk in.

"I haven't heard any word of either of you since I left…Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I'm happy I found you so I could explain myself. You never did say what you two were up to all this time."

"We've been following the dragons throughout the countryside. Johan shot one, but– " Johan kicked Peewit under the table in the shin, " -But it went down in Hauvon, and we couldn't follow it."

"You saw one? Amazing!"

"That's what brings us to here, actually. A knight we were traveling with named Sir Gilbert fell victim to one of them before we could get to him. We've come to tell his family, and return his horse and sword."

"Sir Gilbert? Oh, no. I knew him, went up against him in several tournaments. His mother will be crushed… But you said there was more than one dragon?"

"Yes, there were four. Three now…if the one I shot is dead."

"Well, Gilbert's father and brothers are currently serving in my father's court. I can take the news to them…if you trust me to. I'm only suggesting it because I don't think father would like to have you around. No hard feelings on my part, you understand, but I didn't exaggerate when I said he wasn't happy about my betrothal being broken off, and I'd hate for him to lay the blame on you. You're already banished from one kingdom."

They spent more time discussing dragons, politics, and Savina. Johan and Peewit found themselves warming up to the cheerful young prince, and agreed it would be best for him to carry the sad news to Sir Gilbert's family. When the three left the inn, something caught Peewit's eye in the corner, where a drunk man had been passed out earlier in the evening.

"I'll be back; I have to go check on...something."

"Don't take too long. I'm going to take Prince Andrew to Gilbert's horse. We'll be in the stables."

* * *

The pouch was made of plain leather and would not have drawn anyone's attention under normal circumstances. But after Peewit gained second sight of sorts during his adventures the previous summer, the pouch glistened with magic.

Peewit quickly snatched the pouch and hid it in his shirt, waiting until he was in the stables to examine its contents. It contained nothing but four glass vials, sealed with corks and wax. Two of them contained a thick red liquid, and two of them contained what looked like tar. They all shone with the same magic that permeated the pouch. Each vial had a scrap of cloth tied to it, and on each scrap of cloth was writing:

AGAINST POISON

AGAINST VENOM

"What do you have there, Peewit?" Johan asked from behind him. He was leading Bayard.

"I found these in the inn. I think someone dropped them, but they're potions of some kind. I can see the magic on them."

* * *

"He was banished? Because the princess is pregnant? Oh, that's too funny! And right under the king's nose! How I wish I could have been there to see it!" Chloderic couldn't stop laughing at Brother Huard's story.

"That's as much as I could get from their conversation, sir. It was noisy, and people kept tripping over me."

"That's all I needed to hear. It certainly explains some things, doesn't it? And opens up some interesting possibilities!"

"Aren't we going to keep following the dragons? We can't afford to lose any more of them."

"Oh, of course. We need them, after all. But they're in Pepin's kingdom, too. And now that his lapdog is out of the picture, I might have to pay the old king a visit!" He laughed again, and ordered Huard and Philip to gather their things for the journey.

* * *

"You got this news from Sir Johan? He's still alive?" King Randolph was irritated at his son again. He never asked permission to go off on this vague errand among the commoners. Now he was back, saying that one of his Knights had been eaten by dragons.

"I did. Sir Gilbert was with Sir Johan and their friend Peewit hunting the dragons that've been on the loose."

"That's what he's been up to. Hmmm...I'll summon Gilbert's family immediately."

"Why did you think Sir Johan was dead, father?"

"Oh…I must have misunderstood what someone else told me. You know how gossip goes…"

"Really…"

"Go make yourself presentable and then wait for Sir Gilbert's relatives in my throne room. You keep saying you want to be a good ruler, you can learn to deliver bad news like this."

"Aren't you going to accompany me, father?"

"I will…first I need to write a letter. Something's just come up that I need to take care of."

* * *

_What the heck is vair you ask? Vair is lots of little squirrel hides sewn together, forming a sort of striped or checkerboard pattern. While squirrel doesn't sound too luxurious today, it was THE fashionable lining for cloaks and trim in the middle ages. It is also a heraldic pattern, designed after said fur lining. It's claimed that Cinderella's slippers were originally vair, but a mistranslation rendered them "verre", the French word for glass. It seems to me that squirrel fur _would_ be more comfortable...  
_


	5. Chapter 5: Memories

_So the Geat people, his hearth companions,  
Sorrowed for the lord who had been laid low.  
They said that of all the kings upon the earth  
He was the man most gracious and fair minded  
Kindest to his people and keenest to win fame._

_Beowulf, verse 3178-3182_

The little girl was no more than five but had seen more sorrow in the span of a few weeks than any child should. After another idyllic trip accompanying her parents to visit her aunt, uncle and little cousin, her mother collapsed with a sudden fever at her loom. The girl watched helplessly as her mother languished, eventually to be taken into seclusion by the royal healers. Her mother did not recover, and her father, against the healers' wishes, had insisted on staying by his beloved wife's side to the end. It was not long before he too fell sick, and was put into the same seclusion.

Leaderless and with the king's life slipping away, the Duke had been summoned to step in as next in line to the throne. He was a kind and loving man, but he forbade the girl from seeing her father, for fear that she too would succumb to the sickness. The memory of receiving the news was as vivid as if it was still happening – she emerged from her room in her perfect silk dress, with hair tightly braided at the back of her neck, worried servants rushing around, every face dazed and grief-stricken.

The Duke, who had only been acting as king for a few days, was with a group of knights and nobles discussing something in hushed tones. She asked him where her father was, if she could see him. He looked sadly at the other men and gently told her she could not see him, and by his tone and expression she understood this to mean that she could never see him again, as long as she drew breath. It was like an icy hand gripped her. But she had to see him again. He was all she had left in the world, the last connection to her happy family.

In the confusion that had overtaken the castle, she was able to slip past the servants and courtiers, out of the royal suite to the healer's rooms. She was able to make her way past the healers, no longer in a rush to attend to her father's needs. A linen curtain hung over the door to the sick-room where he was, and she ducked under it as it blew in the breeze created by the open windows that were supposed to dissipate the disease-ridden air. It was a simple, unadorned room. She quickly found a stool and pulled it beside the bed, nervous that she might be discovered.

The corpse she saw made her gasp. Her father had been a stocky man, around thirty-five, with a full beard and shoulder length auburn hair. This man was little more than a boy, with coal-black hair and a handsome clean-shaven face. It was not her father at all. But this boy was so familiar, someone also so dear to her that seeing him there, lifeless and cold made her want to scream in anguish…

* * *

Savina was shaken awake by her uncle.

"What's wrong, Savina? Wake up, please!"

She stared forward in a daze for a few moments, stiff with terror before relaxing onto her pillows.

"N…nothing. I had a nightmare, that's all."

"You were screaming as if you'd seen a ghost, that's hardly nothing."

_As if I'd seen a ghost, indeed. But it was so _vivid_._

"I was dreaming about father. About the day he died."

"Poor girl. I'll have the servants send you some chamomile tea so you can get some rest. If you need anything, I'm just across the hall."

"Thank you, Uncle, I will," she whispered, still reeling from the dream's spell.

It was still night, but the moon was waxing, and it reflected on the falling snow outside. She followed the dim light to the windows, where it was distorted by the thick panes of glass connected by a matrix of lead. She flipped the heavy iron latch and pushed them slightly open. A cold breeze blew in, making her remember her dream with a shudder. She held her mug of tea close and tried to think of happier things. Six months prior, she would leave the same windows slightly ajar at night to let Johan know it was safe to climb in, and that Maenad watched her door. It was a bittersweet memory. She sighed and looked down below to the courtyard and the castle walls below. A shadow passed over the snow. An owl? No, much too large. She opened the windows wider and looked out, at one of the towers. A light shape hugged the turret, its blue-white form blending with the snow, but not the grey of the wooden shingles of the roof. If she didn't know any better she'd say it was a griffin. No, ridiculous. Or was it? She was friends with Smurfs and a werewolf, after all. She looked again and the shape was gone, with only the swirling snow to be seen. She sipped her tea and shut the window tight.

* * *

Maenad loped through the snow, on her way to a place she was not sure she could find again. It was dangerous to be here. Not because of any threat to her life, but because Smurf village was well within the boundaries of Hauvon, and she wanted to keep what little favor she had left in that court.

She had left in the late afternoon, sure that if she paced herself, she could be safely hidden with the shy forest spirits by dawn. That is, if she could find their magically hidden home in a snowstorm. She shook the snow from her fur and sniffed the air. Not even close. She had only a few hours left before she would need to turn back, and Edelhart would have to just live without Papa Smurf's pain remedy to soothe his crippled arthritic leg.

She had not planned to stay long with Johan's father, just long enough to make plans and prepare. her choices were many. Should she travel to the marshes where she had just spent the summer, home to perhaps the last direwolf pack in existence? No, she feared her presence might draw attention to them, and anyway she was tired of living as a wolf. Though it did her heart good to know that some of her kind still lived, if she could be said to have a "kind". She wanted to go back to Byzantium, and then perhaps finally follow the silk road to Cathay when spring came.

She settled into Edelhart's estate surprisingly well. He merely tolerated her at first, but he was a very lonely and restless man, she learned, and he grudgingly admitted to enjoying having company again. She was less sure of why she stayed other than her suspicions that he and his son were among the last of her descendants. Officially she was a Polish noblewomen and war orphan, seeking refuge with her late father's ally.

A new scent crossed her nose, one unrecognizable to probably everything in the forest save her. She had smelled it only once before, centuries prior, the last time she's tried to follow the Silk Road. They were rare beasts, the stuff of legends even in that place. The locals had called them Houma and said they only appeared when food became scare high in the mountains where they lived. That year the winter snows had come early and a pack of Houma (for they always hunted in packs, she was told) had descended on a band of nomads camping in a mountain pass, sending the other tribes into a panic. Maenad had caught a glimpse of them in the sky, and smelled their acrid stench before she and her caravan were forced back the way they had come.

Why on earth were they here, far from their home range? There were mountains to the south, and foothills of course, but nothing like the peaks she saw after crossing the steppes. She hurried back to her temporary home, praying her nose was wrong. It had been hundreds of years. She had forgotten so much, surely she was misremembering the old nomad legends, too.

She came across a fallow field, covered in snow. Spooked by her memories of the mountains far to the east, she darted across it. The snow swirled around her and the same stench pierced her nostrils. Shit. It was a Houma, and where there was one, there would be more. She ran as fast as her four legs would carry her, across the fields, through the brush and into a barn. The cattle inside bellowed at the smell and sight of a wolf, but Maenad did not care about discovery at this point, not even by Pepin's men. She was fairly sure she could not die, but she had not put that theory to the test of being eaten by large bird-dragons, and if she surrounded herself with easier to catch meat, she might have a chance…

* * *

The Good King examined the chaos left in the barn in the early morning. Savina had alerted him to the presence of dragons in his realm, in his very castle, and this latest attack had occurred only miles away. The creatures had torn through the thatched roof of the barn, slaughtering the cattle inside. There was little left, as usual, but it was the first time the creatures had entered a building. Even his most battle-hardened knights were disturbed by the implications if this latest attack. If they were now breaking into buildings, no one was safe…


	6. Chapter 6: Conspiracy

_I went up to my chamber, all for to take a slumber_  
_ I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure 't was no wonder_  
_ But Jenny drew me charges and she filled them up with water_  
_ Then sent for captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter_

_- Whiskey in the Jar, Irish traditional_

When the carrier pigeon arrived bearing a confidential message for the king, Andrew eagerly volunteered to bring the message to his father. It appeared to be a simple act of filial obedience, but Andrew had an ulterior motive. The king was accustomed to always getting his way, and while he pretended to respect his son's wishes regarding marriage, Andrew was sure he was up to something. As soon as he was out of sight, he unrolled the much-abused parchment. It appeared to be a conversation between his father, whose handwriting he recognized, and an unknown person.

_Just finish the job. I already gave you a generous advance. I do not want to spend another penny, and I am growing weary of excuses._

I had to break a man out of the gaol in Friestadt, and bribing the guards was not cheap. In addition, we are running dangerously low on certain supplies, and the priest has told us he cannot replenish our stores. As it is, the price has gone up due to the demand for such supplies, and should we finish him, the rest of the fee will need to rise accordingly. I will try another approach.

_See that you do, or I will take back my fee and find someone more competent. You were well-reccommended and I am sorely disappointed.  
_

One of my best is on the way to find him now. Have no fear, We will finish this.

Was his father trying to assassinate someone? Who would he want dead?

His mind went back to the conversation he had at the inn with Johan and Peewit, about mysterious attempts on Johan's life...in...Friestadt. It couldn't be! Did his father really understand his son so poorly, to think that taking his "rival" out of the picture would pave the way for his marriage to Princess Savina after all? Or was his father even more spiteful than he thought? Either way, He had to warn them. He didn't know them well enough to call them friends, but he did not want an innocent man to die because of his decisions...or his father's ambitions.

His hands shaking with fury and shock, Andrew hastily folded the parchment up, crammed it back inside the canister, and deposited it on his father's desk before rushing off to find Sir Cosimo. He needed to share this news with someone he trusted wholeheartedly.

* * *

"Mutton and turnips again? I'm sick of this! When can we get some real food?"

"Not until spring, Peewit. It's the middle of winter, and we can't afford anything else even if it were available."

Peewit pouted and poked at the bland stew in front of him. They were in another inn in another village, redrawing their plans for the winter yet again. As they were already headed east, Peewit had suggested they stop by his father's manor, but Johan was resistant to the idea_. _

_The old man was not happy with him over what happened, but at least there we'd always be warm and have real food_, Peewit thought ruefully. Returning to a life of poverty did not suit him after living at the castle. Johan was talking to some men about Viking settlements far to the north, and how they had found a land of strange savage people no one had ever seen before. Going north and possibly on a boat! That sounded even more miserable than their current wild dragon chase.

Johan soon sat down to relay all he'd learned about the rumors of undiscovered lands to the north and the west and the people the Northmen called skrælingi. He was clearly excited; Peewit smiled and nodded blandly, but he really would prefer his friend would just give in and go visit his father.

A young woman sauntered up to their table, though it was clear she was not interested in northern exploration. She wore her long brown hair loose, topped with a gaudy, cheap hat. Her dress was bright red and low cut, but also made of cheap material. She ignored Peewit and went straight to Johan, taking a seat beside him and smiling sweetly. Peewit fumed. Even a streetwalker would ignore him in favor of his handsome friend. Oh, well, the joke was on her; Johan would politely turn her down, just like he did all the others.

She was persistent, though. Rather than move on to another potential customer, she remained perched on the bench coquettishly. Johan was beginning to be annoyed. Rather than being enticing, her behavior was only reminding him of Maenad's drunken antics, only she was far less polished. She even had the same gleam in her eyes, almost a predatory look.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm truly not interested. If you'll excuse my friend and I, we need to go pay the innkeeper." He removed her arm from his shoulder and made his way through the smoke-filled room. Peewit went with him, sniffing dismissively at her. He wasn't interested in the girl either, but he was still sore about being snubbed. As she watched them leave, her face immediately went from flirtatious to a scowl. This was not going according to plan at all. She would have to strike now, or be turned back out onto the streets. Reaching up into her hat, she pulled out a thin, dagger-like pin.

"Are you feeling all right, Peewit?"

"No, I'm not feeling all right! I'm hungry and cold and I want to go someplace where there's real beds and good food."

"Shhh. Show some respect for our hosts. We've already discussed this and now is not the time or place."

"Don't tell me we're going to discuss it later, because later never comes and next thing you know I'll be on a boat getting seasick all the way to Vinland or somewhere else cold and awful."

Johan sighed. "Do you really want to go to-" He gasped, eyes wide, and spun around to see the streetwalker holding a bloody hair pin and looking at him like a hawk about to seize a mouse.

"Johan? You're bleeding!"

"Stop her!"

The entire inn was thrown into disarray. Johan, Peewit and a few other patrons tried to pursue the murderous woman, but before they reached the door, Johan staggered and leaned against a table for support.

She had missed any vital areas; the pin had struck his shoulder; a shallow, very minor injury. Peewit had seen him take worse blows during jousting practice.

"Are you all right?"

"No…it burns…like fire…down my arm."


	7. Chapter 7: The Woman

_It stands against pain, stands against poison,  
has might against three and against thirty,  
Against devil's hand and against deception,  
Against the witchcraft of the wicked ones._

- _The Nine Herbs Charm, Anglo Saxon, c. 10__th__ century_

Whatever poison was in the woman's hairpin, it acted with disturbing speed. Johan needed to be carried to the room they were staying in by the innkeeper and his wife. The innkeeper sent his children to search for the "weapon" and his wife ran to fetch the local healer.

In the short time it took to summon him, the knight's condition worsened. It was all he could do to lie as still as possible, wracked with searing pain that spread through his chest, followed by an even more frightening numbness that was creeping up his right arm and surrounding the stab-wound. When the healer arrived, Johan could no longer move his arm to take his tunic or shirt off, and felt only the pressure of a wet cloth dabbing the blood and any residual poison away. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced, made worse by the terrified looks on those around him. A boy of about eight, the innkeeper's son perhaps, hurried to the healer with a thing in a rag. The healer and Peewit began speaking to each other excitedly. What were they saying? It was becoming hard to think…shock setting in, he hoped. He gritted his teeth and tried to pay attention to the conversation. This would not be his end, not poisoned at an inn, exiled from home without ever seeing his child. It couldn't end like this.

"It's been treated with some kind of spell, besides the poison! I can see it; it looks like – oh!"

Peewit ran across the room and rummaged through his things. The healer threw up his hands in annoyance. But his expression changed when Peewit came back with the pouch of four vials.

"It looks like this. Exactly like this. Here, two of them say they're good against poison."

"Where did you get these?"

"I found them."

"Where?"

"A drunk dropped them…look, it doesn't matter. Even if they don't work it's worth a try; you said yourself he doesn't have much time left!"

The healer agreed and hastily uncorked the vial, smelling its contents. They propped Johan up and forced him to swallow the thick black liquid, washing it down with icy water.

"Come on, Johan, don't die on me."

The potion was bitter and it burned going down. And it seemed to only make Johan's suffering worse. Before long he broke into a cold sweat, and felt sick. The numbness took completely over, as if he'd had his head stuffed with wool, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Peewit and the healer watched helplessly.

* * *

The room came slowly into focus. Johan stirred, but the searing pain he remembered from before had been replaced by a dull ache. And thirst, he was so thirsty. He called for water, and his voice was a raspy whisper.

"Johan, you're awake!" Peewit came running in the room and hugged his friend.

"I'm glad to see you too. Get me water, please." Peewit ran off to get a pitcher, and something to eat.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Um, a day and a half."

"What?"

"Well, you did almost die. If it wasn't for those potions I found, I don't even want to think what would have happened. The healer said he's never seen anything like the poison on that hairpin."

"Did they ever find her?"

"No, when we asked, all the locals said they'd never seen her before, and no one saw a woman of her description leave town. She just vanished."

"I wondered about that. Do you still have the hairpin?"

"I think so."

"Good. As soon as I can, I want to take it to King Gerard. Something has to be done about this. Whoever that woman was working for, they need to be found and stopped. I'm probably not the only one they've used this poison against."

"You think she was in league with the other assassins, back in Friestadt?"

"That's the only explanation that makes sense right now. As much as anything can make sense."

It took another full day for Johan to be well enough to move around comfortably. By the third day, he announced that he was well enough to leave. He was still clumsy with his right arm, but Peewit didn't argue, he was eager to go stay in a castle again. They would be far safer there from both dragons and hired killers, at least.

"Peewit, have you seen my sword?" Johan asked as they gathered their things.

"No, not since the night you were stabbed."

"Are you sure? You had my clothes washed and mended, and it wasn't with them?"

"I'm sure. Did you check with the innkeeper?"

The innkeeper had not seen it since the night of the stabbing, either. They searched the inn, the stables, and the surrounding area, but it had vanished. The village magistrates were informed and joined in the search, but they also came up empty-handed.

"We can get you another one when we get to King Gerard's castle, right? It's not like this is the first time you've lost a sword." They were searching the room they'd stayed in for the eleventh time.

"This is my grandfather's sword, my father gave it to me as a gift. It can't be replaced. We _have_ to find it."

"Oh. You don't suppose that woman took it?"

"Why would she do that? Keep looking." But deep down, Johan suspected that his friend was right.

* * *

After changing into a less conspicuous outfit, Molly had no trouble slipping out of the little village in the chaos that night. Several days later she made it back to Friestadt, to a tavern in a part of town that had seen better days. There she was greeted warmly and beckoned inside. A man waited eagerly for her.

"Well, did you do what you were supposed to?"

"It didn't go as smoothly as planned, but I managed to get the poison in him."

"Good. And you made sure he's dead?"

"No, I had to get away. That was the problem. He wouldn't leave with me, so I stabbed him when his back was turned and he was talking to his friend. That attracted a lot of attention obviously, so I escaped in the confusion."

"I told you to make sure he died. We've got a lot of money riding on this."

"What's to make sure? You know as well as I do that only the Abbot makes the Black Poison, and that only he has the antidote. There's no way he could still be alive. He could barely stand when I last saw him."

"Well they're going to want proof. Did you at least get something that we can use to that end?"

"I do," she said, and handed a clothing bundle to the man. He unwrapped it and found Johan's sword.

"There's no way a knight would let something like that out of his sight for long, I wager."

"Well, it will have to do."

* * *

**The Nine Herbs Charm is one of my favorite medieval things. It's part herbal remedy, part folk magic, and contains references to both Wotan (Odin) and Jesus curing poison and disease. Because half-assed converted Anglo Saxons liked to have all their bases covered ;P It also contains instructions for use:**

**"Sing that charm on each of the herbs thrice before he prepares them, and on the apple also, and sing into the mouth of the man and both the ears and on the wound that same charm before he puts on the salve." **

**Weird, but no more weird than waving a bloody stick around and chanting the names of saints in Latin, which was also an Anglo Saxon "cure".**


	8. Chapter 8: The Sword

**You Smurf fans who've been waiting for them to appear get your wish! I started coming up with these stories as a kid as a way to explain what the heck happened to half the human cast since they just vanished from the cartoon sometime around season four, with no explanation whatsoever. I imagine the Smurfs would be worried, since they seemed to be good buds with our human friends.**

* * *

_If she finds that I've been 'round to see you_  
_ Tell her that I'm well and feeling fine_  
_ Don't let on, don't say she's broke my heart_  
_ I'd go down on my knees but it's no good to pine_

_ - Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter - Herman's Hermits_

The pair arrived at King Gerard's castle several days later. It couldn't be soon enough for Peewit. The journey had been slow going; the weather was becoming really intolerable, and he didn't think Johan was as travel-ready as he claimed. Stubborn as always. Because of the unexpected expense of an extended stay in the last town and having to pay a healer, they ran out of money halfway through the journey and their spirits had gotten so low that only Peewit's singing could cheer them up. Or at least in Johan's case, distract him from his troubles.

Because Gerard and Savina were close friends and cousins, Peewit went ahead to discreetly announce their arrival, should Savina or worse, Savina and her governess be there for a visit. Technically Johan should be allowed inside the castle, and he desperately wanted to see the princess again. But that loophole was not worth the risk if it meant the possibility of his banishment becoming permanent, or worse.

Gerard welcomed them and insisted on laying out a banquet for his wayward friends. He had no guests after all, and had not had any for a long time. Peewit was giddy with delight and ate until he could barely move. Johan was more interested in discussing business first, namely the fact that there were assassins in the country. Gerard listened with rapt attention to their adventures over the past two and a half months.

"Well, this is certainly more troubles on top of what we already have to deal with! You mentioned seeing dragons flying toward Hauvon; they seem to have decided to winter there. My uncle has dispatched most of his knights to hunt them down, but they are elusive beasts. Some of them have said they'll disappear completely for days at a time, and then the attacks will begin again, and only at night. But these are the same ones you saw, I'm sure of it. Sa…someone at the castle saw one, it was feathered like a griffin."

"I was afraid of that. Do you know if they're all safe? If...if she's safe?"

"As far as I know, they are. But I haven't heard much, no one in the castle is wiling to travel if they don't have to. She didn't even come here this October so we could celebrate her birthday with mine like we normally do."

"I wish there was something I could do. I've always been there when someting like this has happened."

"After all you've been through; I think you've earned a rest, Johan. You know you and Peewit can stay here as long as you like. I'm sure the other Knights can handle this." Gerard had mostly gotten over his anger at being hoodwinked by Johan. He had done wrong and caused a lot of trouble, no doubt, but he also clearly loved Savina, and after hearing about all of their misfortunes, Gerard felt sorry for them, though he would obviously never let on that he felt this way.

"You said you have the hairpin that poisoned you, and the potions that cure it?"

"Peewit does." They looked at Peewit, who grunted as he devoured a fourth trencher, a pint of ale in his greasy left hand to wash it down.

"I have an idea."

* * *

Chloderic met with the assassins to discuss prices for more poisoned arrows. He had a small store left over at the monastery, and the leader, a man who called himself Gavrilo, claimed that they would be able to afford higher priced merchandise because one of their band had completed a very profitable "commission".

He brought Huard and Philip along with him. They had been chasing the dragons along with King Pepin's knights; one group being very careful not to attract the attention of the other. _Probably best to bring reinforcements to meet a bunch of professional murderers_, Chloderic thought. He didn't know if they'd get it in their heads to simply kill him and take the arrows, though they should know that would result in the permanent end of their manufacture. His monks both had antidotes anyway, and he was even stingier selling that than he was his special poison.

As they discussed the terms of the sale with the reluctant Gavrilo, Huard crept into the tavern's back room and nudged Chloderic.

"What is it, you oaf? Can't you see we're discussing business?" Chloderic hissed.

"Begging your pardon, Abbot sir, but there's something our hosts have that you may be interested in."

"What do they have that I could possibly want besides money?"

"They have the squire's sword."

"Excuse me for a moment, please, Gavrilo. Brother Huard has brought my attention to something that may sweeten our deal." He grabbed Huard by the robe and drug him around the corner, with Philip following.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. He was wearing it the time he shot the male, and all the time we followed him. It's got this gilded old fashioned pommel and hilt, and the scabbard is the gaudiest thing you ever saw."

"It's true, it's a very tacky scabbard," Philip added.

Chloderic returned to the bargaining table with new excitement.

"My men say they saw a sword in your possession. One that looks very valuable. I might be able to add a bonus to our deal if I could have it."

"I thought holy men such as yourself weren't allowed to carry swords? Besides, that's the only proof we have that we offed a knight that a client of ours wanted dead. We have to deliver him the proof or there won't be any buying arrows for us."

"I have a…nephew who I think might like it. He's to be knighted soon and I think it would make a lovely present. You said it was already in a knight's possession? What, ah, what did he look like? I'm interested in hearing the tale of this lovely item."

"There's no tale to tell, really. He was very hard to kill. Go figure it was my Molly who managed to do him in, and just barely. Tall youth, always travels with an obnixious dwarf. You'll be happy to know she hit him with your poison, and it worked like a charm. That's why we need the sword, to collect the rest of our fee. Then we can pay you whatever you like."

Chloderic could barely contain his excitement. He'd managed to kill the boy after all…indirectly, but still!

"I'll make you an offer. Your original offer, plus the sword, and I will throw in two daggers."

"I told you, we can't make any offer until our client sees the sword."

"I shall have Brother Huard deliver the sword to your client as proof. He surely wouldn't doubt he word of a man of God, and you have my promise his identity will remain a secret."

Gavrilo thought about the offer for a while, before accepting.

* * *

"But why do I have to go show the sword and collect the bounty?" whined Huard as the three clerics walked down the filthy, narrow streets outside the tavern.

"Because you're the idiot who lost his potions! If we don't have a way to make the poison, we don't have a way to make the antidotes. Not to mention all the time and energy it takes to make them once we have the raw materials. Consider it your penance. Just make sure you don't let any harm come to that sword, and that you hurry. I may not have gotten to see Johan die at the hands of a mere woman, but I can enjoy adding his sword to my collection, at least."

"While Brother Huard does his penance, will we be heading back to Hauvon to look for our um, livestock?" Philip asked.

"Of course. It wouldn't be so hard if those damned knights would stop chasing them all over creation. It's bad enough they recognize us."

* * *

"Hmmm, very interesting. It's a good thing Peewit Smurfed these when he did. I've never seen anything like this. The one that says it works against venom almost looks like blood." Papa Smurf examined the vials in the light of a candle in King Gerard's study. Gerard had sent Clockwork to summon the aged wizard. There was a chance that with 500 or so years of experience dealing with magic, he could determine the nature of the mysterious items.

"You have no idea, Papa Smurf. I owe my life to Peewit's quick thinking and those vials."

"You said there's a hairpin that's poisoned, too? I'll want to take that to my lab, if I can, and see if I can learn how it was made. "

"We do have it. But be very careful with it, we don't know how much of the poison is still on it, or how long it lasts. I'll have a servant fetch a box to put it in."

"About how long will it take to find out, Papa Smurf?"

"I can't say, Your Highness. I'll hurry back as soon as I can. We've missed all of you; we haven't heard from you, Johan, Peewit, Maenad, Princess Savina or your uncle in a long time. We were beginning to worry."

"That's a long story, Papa Smurf. A long…complicated story," Johan sighed. The story he'd been avoiding having to explain to anyone, least of all his friends.

"Hey, when you come back, can you bring Harmony? I have this new song I wrote that I bet he'd love. You heard it, Johan, it's the one I played when you found me."

"How could I forget? But maybe you should try playing something different. You already played it seven or eight times on the way here."

"Nonsense! I think this is one that will be really popular, you just need to give it time!"

"What is he talking about, Johan?"

"You don't want to know your highness…it's the worst thing he's come up with yet."

"_I heard that!_"


	9. Chapter 9: Miscommunication

_ "The report of my death was an exaggeration."_

_-Mark Twain, New York Journal, 2 June 1897_

Prince Andrew and Sir Cosimo were in good spirits when they crossed paths with a monk astride a donkey on the road to King Randolph's castle. They had just ended another search for Johan and Peewit to warn them that Randolph had hired assisns to kill one, possibly both of them. It was a grim mission, but it was hard to stay unhappy near Andrew. It was one of the reasons Cosimo enjoyed his company so much. The prince could brighten even the bleakest winter day.

The two men initially took little notice of the monk; though travelers had become especially scarce, there was nothing remarkable about this man. He was going on a pilgrimage perhaps. Then Andrew noticed the glint of a gilded sword hilt at the monk's side, not very well hidden under a rough winter cloak. He turned his horse around and rode up next to the monk, followed by a confused Cosimo. He dismounted and approached Huard, so as not to intimidate his as much.

"Excuse me, Brother, may I ask where you were headed?"

"I'm but a humble monk on a mission for the Church. I'm looking for a safe place to spend the night."

"You're in luck my friend, King Randolph's castle is less than a day's ride form here."

"King Randolph, you say! Yes, that will do nicely! Thank you, Sire, I'm forever in your debt!"

"Say...I couldn't help but notice that sword you have. May I ask where you got it from?"

Brother Huard looked terrified for a moment, before gaining his composure. As unorthodox as his order was, even he knew how odd it must look for a monk to be wearing a sword at his hip, much less an ostentatious antique one.

"Uh, well…you see…It was given to me. By a dying assassin who saw the error of his ways, and wanted to confess his life of terrible sins to me. He was, uh, stabbed fighting over loot with his business partners. He said this belonged to one of his victims, and uh, he wanted me to take it and donate it to a monastery far from here. I'm just fulfilling a dying man's wish for redemption, m'lord, and I am in a hurry. I do apologize for being in your way."

"A…are you sure the man was telling the truth?"

"Oh, yes. He was very sincere."

"Did he say who this sword originally belonged to?" Andrew grabbed the monk by the arm in spite of himself. Huard shrank back in fear. What did he say to upset this strange blonde nobleman? He would never let his potions out of his sight again!

"I think he said it belonged to a knight? He had many victims!"

"Andrew, please, you're terrifying the poor man." Cosimo laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. Huard fled as fast as his donkey would carry him. While Andrew fell back, his fists balled in anger.

"We're too late, Cosimo. I can't believe it."

"You did everything you could. It's not your fault."

"Is it? If I'd married Savina like father wanted me to, would things have gone differently? I'd have to leave you, but a good man wouldn't have had to die."

"This is your father's fault, don't let yourself think any different. He made the choice to do this." Andrew leaned against Cosimo, who put his arm around his waist.

"I have to make this right, regardless. I won't let him get away with this, even if he is my father. I'm going to go tell King Pepin what's happened."

"You do know this will be seen as an act of treason if your father finds out."

"That's a risk we have to take. Will you come with me?"

The knight removed his helmet and slid back his hood, revealing a long, handsome face and a wealth of brown curls.

"Of course I will."

"You know this endangers your place as well as mine?"

"I do. As you said, that's a risk we'll have to take."

* * *

"I have made some progress, but these are the strangest potions I've ever seen. The vial against venom does have blood in it, and the hairpin had a greasy black substance worked into it that reacted like adder venom." Papa Smurf had returned the next day, accompanied by several Smurfs eager to see their friends again, including Harmony.

"It's made of adder venom, really?" Johan involuntarily touched the wound left by the hairpin. It was still sore and hampered the reflexes in his right arm.

"Well not quite. It's incredibly strong; an adder's bite shouldn't almost kill a healthy human like you that quickly. And there's a lot else that's been done to it. If it is snake venom, that doesn't explain the vial of blood to stop it."

"Wonderful. Dragons in my uncle's kingdom, and poisoners in mine. Do you have any idea who could be making such a ghastly concoction?"

"It had a signature to it that seemed familiar, but I can't smurf my finger on it. It's like I've seen these herbal combinations before. I'll have to examine these further, but I can say that whoever is smurfing them is very dangerous."


	10. Chapter 10: Duty

_I know I left too much mess and  
destruction to come back again  
And I caused nothing but trouble  
I understand if you can't talk to me again  
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"  
then I'm sure that that makes sense_

_- White Flag, Dido_

Maenad looked around carefully to make sure no one was near, then went to where Sir Edelhart had laid the message on his desk. The parchment had been re-used, as was common practice. On one side was a crossed out letter regarding taxation on Flemish wool versus Welsh wool. On the other side was an exceedingly polite letter from King Pepin asking Edelhart to come fill the ranks of the castle guard due to the fact that several knights had suddenly gone missing while on a mission. The letter did not go into detail about what happened to them or what the mission was, but she could easily guess. She'd barely escaped the Houma dragons, and she was more familiar with what they were.

She'd been crushed by the barn roof collapsing, and was forced to spend the night under a pile of rubble and thatch until the moon rose again, allowing her to heal. Thankfully, the King's knights only surveyed the situation and left, or she would probably be in a dungeon right now. And she never did find the Smurfs. It had not been one of her more pleasant excursions.

_He must be desperate if he wants Edelhart to come defend them_, she thought to herself as she laid the parchment down and hurried to the spiral staircase leading to the main hall. The knight was there with his steward, making plans to leave.

"You can't be serious about going to help the King," she interrupted.

"Despite what happened last Saint Matthew's, I still consider the king a friend and ally, Lady Maenad. I realize you may not feel the same." Edelhart did not take his eyes from the list they were compiling.

"That's not what I meant. I'm taking about the Houma…the dragons. I told you about how they came after me. They'll kill you." She had to give a generic 'damsel in distress' version of her misadventure to Edelhart's household, and confided the story of the Silk Road caravan to him in private.

"I'm not going to slay dragons, Maenad, I'm going to make sure the King and his family are safe. Including my grandchild. The castle is poorly guarded, that makes it a target for all kinds of danger, least of all dragons." He spoke to her as if she had never attacked a fortification before. She wanted to hit him.

"I _know_ that, but you're being foolish about the Houma. They're not like the dragons your people have dealt with before. What will you do if they come back to the castle? You were in pain for a fortnight, and now you want to go leading soldiers again?"

"I'm going, Maenad. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant. You're welcome to stay here, but please don't get in the way of my duties." He was becoming very irritated with her. Maenad's company was pleasant enough to deal with most days, and she turned out to be a surprisingly good musician, but then there were days like this when she reverted to her headstrong, arrogant ways.

"You could decline the offer. The King was nearly apologetic when he asked you in the letter."

"You were into my things again."

"Because I don't want you to die. I know what you're up to; you can't stand to stay idle here. You're forty-seven and you want to go off on another adventure like a man half your age!" She had reverted to the dialect she used in the swamps, a close match to Edelhart's native tongue. The steward looked terribly confused and watched them argue.

"I'm not planning on dying. And if I do, what do you care? You're always bragging about how many human generations you've seen pass."

"I…"

He looked up at her finally, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't want to have to explain to your son what happened to you when he comes back."

"Your concern is admirable. But it hasn't changed my mind."

"Don't make me prevent you from leaving."

"How do you intend to do that? You know you can't follow me. You'll be arrested."

"I'll break your other leg."

"You'll have to be more charming than that if you want me to stay." He wasn't exactly sure if she was joking or not.

* * *

"But I can't send any knights, I have to keep a guard here, and I've sent the rest out to look for a group of assassins," Gerard told the herald who brought him a message similar to the one Edelhart received.

"I'll inform His Majesty, then," the herald replied, before bowing and taking his leave.

"Hold on a minute, what's this I hear about trouble in Hauvon?" Johan, who had been casually listening while playing chess with Peewit, stopped the herald on his way to the courtyard.

"Several knights went missing on a mission last week, and most of the rest are out looking for dragons that have taken up residence near the castle. Actually, the Princess saw one inside the castle. His Majesty is asking for reinforcements to his guard until the menace has passed, but if your men are stretched thin as well, then I won't bother you anymore."

"And people have been disappearing?"

"The Knights have. The dragons even destroyed a barn not far from the town. Tore the roof right off to get to the cattle inside."

"I'm afraid you will need to look elsewhere. King Gerard has made his decision. I'm sorry." Those creatures were inside the castle, and the King was sending out requests for help? Maybe the he was just being cautious. Maybe the herald was mistaken. He sincerely hoped so, and went to tell Peewit the news from home.

Two days later, the two announced that they would be leaving to go spend the rest of the winter at Sir Edelhart's manor. Gerard was disappointed to see them go, as were the Smurfs, who never did get an explanation about what happened. The pair was assured that they would be welcome should they need to return.

* * *

"What made you change your mind about going to stay with your father, Johan?" Peewit asked as they left with refreshed supplies and warm woolen cloaks for their trip. "Was it the woman who tried to kill you at the inn? I told you then we'd be safer inside a castle."

"We're not going to see my father. That was just an excuse to leave, remember?"

"_What_? You said it was safer there and it would be just as comfortable as Gerard's castle!" Peewit pulled Biquette to a stop and started fuming. Johan sighed.

"I was trying to be subtle, so King Gerard wouldn't try and stop us."

"Why?" Peewit whined.

"I don't want to run anymore when almost everyone I care about is in danger. And I'm not going to go visit father when I've lost my grandfather's sword. Do you think he's going to take it well when I have to tell him it was stolen by an assassin pretending to be a prostitute?"

"Well, when you put it that way…."

"I'm going back to find the dragons. I shot one down, I think I can do it again. You can decide not to follow me if you don't want to. I'll understand."

"But…if anyone finds you…"

"I know. I've thought about that. But the King wanted me to put the welfare of the kingdom first, and that's what I'm going to do."

Peewit watched his friend ride down the snowy road, and disappear into the forest.

"Oh, fine. He'd better appreciate this." He coaxed Biquette down the road after him.

* * *

**I know what some of you are going to say: "You said Edelhart was old, and he's only 47, what the hell?" Well, 47 _is_ old by medieval standards. Average life expectancy in the high middle ages was around 49 for highborn adult males, around 43 for ****highborn adult** females. That doesn't mean every nobleman died at 49, but living into one's sixties or seventies was the exception, not the rule. Compare to the current American average life expectancy of 79. However, this world has magical healing, so I'll skew those statistics a wee bit ;)

**And yes, King Gerard is way too easy to lie to. But considering that in the show he kept trusting his evil relatives despite the fact that they all practically wear signs that say "Do not trust anything I say, I just want your stuff" I'm just keeping him in character. **


	11. Chapter 11: Death

_What power art thou, who from below  
Hast made me rise unwillingly and slow  
From beds of everlasting snow?  
See'est thou not how stiff and wondrous old,  
Far unfit to bear the bitter cold  
I can scarcely move or draw my breath?  
Let me, let me freeze again to death._

_- Cold Genius (The Cold Song), Henry Purcell, 1691_

"There it is. Time to end this reign of terror."

The Knight spoke to no one in particular, and silently drew his bow to string it. He's followed the lost ewe to a rocky outcropping, where the dragon had seized it. It was smaller than he was expecting, but minutes after the creature took a bite of the ewe, it ceased its struggling and bleating, and the dragon held it to the ground with a foreleg, grasped its shoulders in its moth,tore it in half with a sickening sound, then swallowed it in two whole pieces. No wonder there was little left of these things' victims. As it groomed itself clean of blood, he gauged the best place to take a shot. He did not notice the three figures watching him from the brush.

A crossbow bolt thudded into the knight's armor, throwing him off balance and causing him to loose his arrow. It flew past the dragon, making it startle and raise its hackles.

"It's spooked! Quick, grab the net!" Voices echoed off the rocks.

The knight pulled the bolt out. His mail had protected him from a deep puncture; the wound was very shallow. He forgot about the dragon, and drew his sword to confront the mysterious attackers. He made it halfway to the outcropping, when the terrible burning pain started, bringing him to his knees.

Through the haze of the poison's effects, he saw the dragon surrounded by three robed men, monks by the looks of them. Two had nets, and they made short work of entangling the creature's wings and lassoing its long neck. It shrieked in panic, and tried to struggle free. The third one watched, looking occasionally at the knight. He held a crossbow in his hands.

"Hurry up and stick it with the sleeping pin, before he attracts any more of those damn knights! He just ate, so it shouldn't be that hard!"

"I'm trying Abbot, but it's not as easy as you seem to think!" Philip said, dodging the snapping jaws of the furious beast.

"Should I put the man out of his misery, sir? He's spooking the dragon," Philip offered, dragging a large leather muzzle and hemp ropes out of their donkeys' packs.

"No, don't bother. I hit him pretty close to the heart, the poison will stop his lungs soon enough. Just be sure to dispose of him when he's dead like we did the others, and remember to retrieve the bolt this time!"

After the dragon was asleep, bound and muzzled, the three clerics paused to eat a meal.

"One more to go! We have a breeding pair again, at least."

"Do we round up the last one now, or take these two back home and then come back?"

"Now that I have my pets back, I was thinking of staying around. I have old business here to settle, after all. Won't the king be surprised to see how far I've come from mixing salves and cold remedies as his potion maker?"

* * *

"Oh, this is terrible! How can I even break the news…If I hadn't sent him away…what happened to poor Peewit?"

"I don't know. I only have the monk's story to go on. Combined with the letters from my father I found, I only know Johan is dead."

"What have I done?" King Pepin was no longer paying any attention to Prince Andrew.

"You had no way of knowing. He's my father, and I didn't suspect a thing until I saw it in his own writing."

"I can't even spare any men to go search for Peewit, if he still..."

"I can go," Cosimo spoke up. "I don't think that King Randolph will want me back in his court, not when word of our betrayal gets out. With your permission, of course."

"Of course. Thank you. And Prince Andrew, thank you for bringing me this terrible news. I know this wasn't easy for you. If you need to seek refuge here, you are more than welcome."

"It would be my honor."

"Your majesty, I need you to approve some tapestry designs for…Is something wrong? What's Prince Andrew doing here?" Even Dame Barbara could read the distress on everyone's faces as soon as she entered the throne room clutching a handful of brightly colored skiens of thread.

"Something awful has happened, Dame Barbara. You might want to sit down."

"Did more knights disappear?"

"No. it's…" he stifled a sob, "Sir Johan has been murdered."

"Murdered?" She wobbled and sat down on the closest chair.

"And Peewit is missing."

"Who…why?"

"My father, King Randolph ordered it. It shames me to admit it, my Lady. I found the order, and spoke with a monk who gave last rites to the killer."

"This is my fault. I just wanted him away from her…I didn't…I didn't want…How are we ever going to tell Savina?"

* * *

**The good news is, no one will think to arrest Johan if he's officially dead. See, I always open a window when I close a door ^^**


	12. Chapter 12: Answers

_I never thought hyenas essential_  
_ They're crude and unspeakably plain_  
_ But maybe they've a glimmer of potential_  
_ If allied to my vision and brain_

_-Be Prepared, from the Lion King_

"Oh, no! This is far, far worse than I could have ever smurfed!"

"What is, Papa Smurf?" Brainy asked, as Papa Smurf read the reply to the message he had sent out to several of his wizard colleagues, along with a vial of poison carefully scraped from the streetwalker's hairpin.

"The poison on the hairpin! My old friend Tiercelet thinks he knows what it is. He says the man who he was apprenticed to long ago owned an arrow with a very similar substance on it. He kept it under lock and key, lest it should fall into the wrong hands. The master claimed it was one of the arrows of Hercules, which had been dipped in the blood of the Lernaean Hydra."

"What's a learning hyena, Papa Smurf?"

"Not learning hyena, Clumsy! Lernaean Hydra. It's a dragon from ancient times," Brainy chided him. Clumsy shuddered.

"Like the fire-breathing dragons?" The Smurfs had several unpleasant run-ins with the native fire-breathers.

"No, Hydras are a different sort altogether. Tiercelet sent me a description of one, written by a human called Hyginus Gromaticus. Here, listen."

_"Hercules killed at the spring of Lerna the nine headed Lernaean Hydra, offspring of Typhon. This monster was so poisonous that she killed men with her breath, and if anyone passed by when she was sleeping, he breathed her tracks and died in greatest torment. Under Minerva's instructions he killed her, disembowelled her, and dipped his arrows in her gall; and so whatever later he hit with his arrows did not escape death, and later he himself perished in Phrygia from the same cause."_

"How did that smurf onto a hairpin?"

"I don't know. But we have to find our human friends very quickly. There aren't supposed to be any hydras alive anymore, Lernaean or otherwise. Either this poison is centuries old, or the human who made this has found one."

"Uh, do you think the dragons that smurfed out of nowhere might be….?"

Papa, Clumsy, and Brainy rushed to Feathers, amid the other confused Smurfs preparing for their Christmas feast.

* * *

"Don't speak to me anymore! Just leave me alone!" Savina's voice echoed through the oak door, and the latch clicked with a heavy thump. The King looked helplessly at Dame Barbara, who carried the princess's dinner. They would normally have chastised her for taking such a tone, but this was hardly normal circumstances. If the king had just turned seventeen and were in her shoes, he would have probably reacted the same way. She blamed them for sending her true love to his death, and had been inconsolable for the past several days.

"Please, open the door. You have to take care of yourself. If not for yourself..."

"Leave it outside. Then go away!"

"I understand how you must feel, but..."

"No you don't! Neither of you do! If you did, you wouldn't have banished him!"

"She's going to be all right, your majesty. I hope."

The king blamed himself, to be honest. Every hateful curse his niece hurled stung for that very reason. He could never forgive himself.

He sunk down into his throne and stared at the tapestries on the wall, depicting heroic deeds of legend. After a while, Gauvain the squire entered, bearing a familiar re-used scroll.

"Message from Sir Edelhart, your Highness."

_Oh, no. He'd completely forgotten about that. Now he had to tell his old friend that the son he had entrusted into royal care had been killed. Edelhart had accepted six months' exile as fair, but would he still think so now? _

"Tell me what is says. I don't have the patience to read it myself."

"Hmm. Bad news I'm afraid, Sire. He respectfully declines your request to come here and lead your castle guard."

"Did he say why?"

"No, the letter is very brief. But I recall he walked with a cane and was seriously injured in a battle when I saw him last. He might not be able enough to take on such a job, if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, you're probably right. Thank you. You're dismissed."

The good news was that he did not have to face Edelhart just yet. The bad news was that even an aged, lame knight would be preferable to knighting Gauvain or Joachim, which was becoming a real possibility. Neither of them had done anything to deserve it as Johan had, and both were even younger than he had been, but he had to fill out his ranks somehow. Prince Andrew seemed competent at least, but all of them would not take the place of the one he most wished would come back.


	13. Chapter 13: Falling Out

Back in a country where they were considered fugitives, Johan and Peewit managed to find an abandoned hovel to spend the night in. Such places were unfortunately common in the years following the plague. But as it was early December, the friends were happy to have a shelter for themselves and their animals.

Darkness came early, and snow had begun to fall again, muffling all sounds outside. They guessed that no dragons would be on the hunt tonight, so after dining on some of the rations they had brought with them, they warmed themselves by the fire they had built in the hearth.

"Hey, you know what would be a great way to pass the time?"

"No, what?"

"Well, I've been thinking. I had this dream last night, and it gave me a great idea for a song."

"Please don't let it be more of that fox song, or that one about the woman with eight husbands."

"Hmph. Other people liked those songs."

"Who are these 'other people'?"

"That's not important right now. I have been struck by inspiration, and you get to witness the creative process in action!" Peewit pulled his battered lute from his pack and began to compose. It was going to be a long night.

"I've almost got it; I just can't seem to get the first verse right. Maybe if I…"

"Why don't you go to sleep? It's late and we have more traveling to do tomorrow."

"No, I think I can finish tonight, I just need to think back and remember my dream." Peewit propped the instrument up next to the stone hearth and wrapped himself up in his blanket. Before long, he was fast asleep.

_Hopefully he's not having a recurring dream_, Johan thought as he laid out his own bedroll. He spied the lute propped next to the dying fire. The hearth stones were rough and uneven, and it wouldn't take much of a bump to knock it in. Peewit would be devastated, though.

"_You're the kind of girl…that fits in with my world…_" Peewit mumbled in a singsong voice in his sleep. On second thought…

* * *

A wail of horror woke Johan at dawn. He grabbed the sword he had borrowed from King Gerard's armory and was about to draw it when he realized it was only Peewit, crouching by the ashes of the fire. He gingerly held a singed pegbox and looked up at his friend with misty eyes.

"It's gone Johan, all gone. This is all that's left. How…how did this happen?"

"I…don't know. It must have fallen in…sometime during the night." Johan replied, feeling guilty. Why did it not all burn?

"How can I go on? It's like a part of my soul has been destroyed, too!" Peewit clutched the burnt pegbox to his chest dramatically.

"There there, you'll find another one. In the spring, when the fairs happen." Johan laid a hand reassuringly on his shoulder.

"I don't think I can wait that long," sniffed Peewit.

After Peewit had calmed down sufficiently, he decided to restart the fire. It was bitterly cold, and he decided that breakfast would lift his spirits a little bit.

"Hey, where's all the firewood we gathered last night?"

They'd found a half dead apple tree outside that looked like it'd been knocked down by a storm. It provided nice dry wood and kindling.

"I must have gotten cold last night and used it all. I'll go get some more. You get the food ready."

Peewit filled the cook-pot with snow and set it on the hearth, deep in thought. How could this terrible tragedy have been prevented? The lute fell in the fire, even though he was sure he'd placed it far enough away that he thought it'd be safe…and all the wood next to it was gone…hmmmm.

Johan returned to the hovel, covered in show, with an armful of applewood. Peewit spun around and glared at him.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you!"

"What? No! It was an accident…of sorts."

"Oh, now it's an accident, when before you didn't know what happened."

"Look, I was half awake, and you…"

"Don't try and explain! I figured it all out! After all I've done for you; this is how you thank me!" Peewit began gathering his things and stuffing them willy-nilly into his pack. He set it on Biquette and led her to the door.

"Peewit, I'm sorry. I'll get you a new one, I promise! A better one, I'll..."

"Don't bother! Biquette and I are going home. Don't follow us either. Oh, that's right, you can't!" Peewit slammed the door behind him, shaking the rafters of the crumbling building.

* * *

The winter storm had forced the Smurfs to travel on foot to find their human friends. It was slow going compared to searching for them from the air.

"It's hopeless, Papa Smurf, we're never going to find them, not in this weather!"

"We have to try, Brainy. This is of life or death importance! Where did Clumsy smurf off to?"

"Over here, Brainy! Over here, Papa! I hear something!"

"Clumsy Smurf, what did I tell you about wandering off…"

"It's Peewit! I found him!"

The other two Smurfs ran in the direction of Clumsy's voice, through the steadily falling snowflakes. On a log near a cluster of trees sat a young man in a red wool cloak with his arms wrapped around his goat's neck, crying.


	14. Chapter 14: Melancholia

_They have obtained beautiful things for thee, and they gather together thy limbs for thee, and they seek to put together the mutilated members of thy body. Wipe thou the impurities which are on them upon our hair and come thou to us having no recollection of that which hath caused thee sorrow. _

_-Songs of Isis and Nephthys, c. 500 B.C.E. _

Count Tremaine rode through the snowy woods, bearing the message that the king had finally written to Sir Edelhart informing him of his son's demise. He was annoyed to have to deliver yet another unpleasant message when there were far more important things to be done. But this was a particularly personal message that the His majesty wanted to be sure was received, and as a good friend of Johan, he knew Tremaine could deliver it with appropriate tact.

The woods became dense and the land became more hilly. Edelhart's land was better fit for timber and herding than planting fields, according to the King. Probably some good hunting and hawking to be had too, Tremaine thought. Night was falling, and he prayed that he was close when he heard a wolf's howl in the distance. The lights of a village or manor twinkled in the distance. He urged his horse forward, but he refused, pawing and snorting.

"Come on, now, we're almost there! What's the problem?" His question was answered when he saw the woman.

Not just any woman, it was Lady Maenad, looking almost exactly like she had the night she'd left Hauvon, which in itself was strange. She wore an meticulously clean gown and had her hair tightly braided without a single strand out of place. She stood in the snow alone, with twilight casting weird purple shadows everywhere, glaring at him as if he were an intruder.

"Lady Maenad! What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. This land is not under King Pepin's rule and you have no right to come after me."

"This has nothing to do with you. I have a message to deliver to Sir Edelhart. It's very important and if you'll please step out of my way…"

"I'll deliver it."

"You? What makes you think you're entitled to- Hey! Stop that at once! That's confidential, you have no authorization to read that!" Taking him by surprise, she plucked the message from his hand, making his horse rear back in fear. Ignoring his protests, she cracked the seal open and read the folded message. Her brow furrowed and her yellow eyes blazed.

"Johan is dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Who killed him? Did you retrieve the body?"

"We know who paid the assassin, but we can't do much, not with dragons on the loose and in the dead of winter. And no, we only have the word of a very trustworthy prince."

"Sir Edelhart still mourns his wife who has been dead for eleven years. News of his son's death will send him into a deep despair. You had better be certain of this."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. But His Majesty insisted Edelhart be told. The King was convinced enough to request a Memorial Mass for him and…for others. "

She frowned, and folded the message then handed it back to Tremaine.

"They call me Lady Wilczyca in this land. Please don't tell anyone otherwise. I don't want to be known as a criminal again." And with that, she ran into the darkening forest, holding her skirts above the snow.

* * *

Green boughs were being gathered and made into garlands and wreaths, while every corner of the castle was being cleaned and prepared for the coming holiday.

Was it Christmas time already? Time had become a blur between the terrible news Savina had received and her erratic sleep schedule. It would not be the most festive Christmas the castle had known, all things considered, but her uncle was certainly making an effort to carry on as if nothing was wrong. The men they'd lost this year would have wanted things that way.

She wrapped herself in a fur-lined cloak and made her way across the busy courtyard to the chapel, a place she spent a lot of time in recent days. People hurried past, every breath visible in the cold air.

The chapel was a place of calm, a welcome escape from the commotion and veneer of joyful celebration everywhere else. The chapel was also where several cenotaphs had been set up for each knight gone missing in the recent months, including Sir Johan. With no bodies to lay to rest, it was the most they could do, until they had the means to complete the grisly task.

She knelt and stared at the stained glass windows near the altar. Her favorite one depicted the Blessed Virgin holding the Christ Child. Her mother had commissioned it while she was Queen, just months before she died. A memory of the terrible dream about those days made Savina's breath catch in her throat.

_I dreamed this. I thought it was _just_ a dream…_

She laid her hands on her growing belly as a fluttering sensation distracted her from her prayers. The garnet ring glistened on her hand.

"You're all I have left of him now," she whispered. She had the ring, and a few other things he's given her, but those paled in comparison.

She still needed to choose a name. If the child turned out to be a boy, she would name him after his father. Her uncle would not be happy; she'd probably be expected to name a boy child after her father, or one of the Pepins, but she was fed up with doing what was expected at her own expense.

Someone cleared his throat next to her. She turned to see Tremaine next to her, looking travel-worn and tired.

"Welcome back, Count. How was the message received?" she whispered.

"Not well, I'm afraid. But I have some news for you, it might cheer you up."

She was skeptical. There was only one thing that could cheer her up.

"I found Lady Maenad. She's been staying in Sir Edelhart's manor. I can't imagine why he lets her. Being banished hasn't seemed to put an end to her rudeness. She calls herself Lady Veilcheesy or something like that, and everyone thinks she's some fosterling of his, that he knew her parents before they died. It's so strange."

"That is indeed very strange. But I'm happy to know she is safe and being cared for." Savina knew more about Maenad than Tremaine did. Maenad didn't need anyone to take care of her; Savina suspected this was a game she had been playing for centuries to avoid being homeless and live in the comfort she preferred. But why of all places did she go there?

* * *

The Smurfs managed to calm Peewit down enough to get an explanation of what has upset him so much, along with the longer story of how they'd come to be in such a mess to begin with.

"Well, that certainly explains why the humans have all been acting so strangely," mused Papa, stroking his beard.

"It doesn't make much sense, does it? How unfair it all is."

"A lot of human behavior doesn't smurf much sense to us or seems fair, my friend. Least of all your marriage customs." Having no females among them that weren't magically created, human courtship both baffled and fascinated the Smurfs.

"Well, none of it matters now. I'm going home. Johan can go and get himself killed for all I care."

"You're not going to hold that against him, are you? You'd let your best friend go hunt down a flying hydra alone because he wrecked a musical instrument?" Biquette bleated in what seemed to be agreement.

"Wait…what did you say about a hydra?"

"We were on our way to tell both of you when we found you. That poison on the hairpin; it's hydra venom. I suspect it comes from the dragons that are on the loose, though I hope I'm wrong. For both of them to show up at the same time when neither has been seen in hundreds of years is too great a coincidence."

"Are you saying someone is controlling these dragons? Like a sorcerer?"

"It's a distinct possibility. But we have to find Johan and warn him. We have the last two vials of antidote, after all."


	15. Chapter 15: Three Fugitives

Johan watched the dragon land in the clearing from his perch in a tree. He had been there since dusk the night before, wrapped in his grey cloak to blend in with the bleak woods. Slowly, so as not to spook it, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and drew it. The creature did not notice, and sniffed the dead hare left hanging on a branch. It was not much meat, but it was meat. The trap had worked.

He was just taking aim, when voices in the distance distracted him. Familiar ones, but not friends. He held his fire until they came close enough to get a good look.

"There she is, Abbot! I don't know why she decided to land here, but it looks like Lady Luck has finally smiled upon us!" it was one of those strange monks they had encountered when he'd shot down the first dragon.

"Well, don't just stand there, net her! She's the last one left to capture, and then we can carry on with our other plans." That second voice sounded a lot like Chloderic, the king's potion maker turned traitor who had escaped the castle after being sentenced to indentured servitude. Johan sat up and peered through the trees, hoping his suspicion wasn't correct.

But it was. Chloderic marched into view along with the two "monks" all dressed in clerical robes. A glint of gold shone at Chloderic's hip. Johan recognized it immediately; it was his grandfather's sword. How had that scoundrel gotten hold of it? Unless he was…yes, it all made terrible sense now. He was a potion maker; of course he knew how to make poisons. _A witch who can't hex, can't heal,_ as the old saying went.

The knight fought every urge to leap down and challenge the poisoner and take back what was his. There were too many of them, and they no doubt had the same poisoned weapons as the assassin. Why did they want the dragons? He watched them net the beast, lasso and muzzle it.

"Where to now, Abbot?" one of them finally asked.

"Go get the wagons and gather the other three. Don't feed or milk them until I tell you to. There are preparations to be made, but I think we have an appointment with my former lord in a few days." He drew the sword and admired it. "I wonder what he will think when he sees this?"

* * *

Johan sat motionless, hidden by the snowy boughs until long after they'd left, seething with anger. He would have to warn the King before Chloderic and his lackeys had time to complete 'preparations' whatever those were. It would mean being arrested like a common criminal, but it was the only choice. Peewit had run off in one of his tantrums, and no one else knew about Chloderic's scheme. Things couldn't get any worse, could they?

He finally climbed down and made his way back to the hovel where Bayard was hidden. The horse looked nervous.

"What is it, boy?" Bayard was not easily spooked. Bayard reared and screeched when something hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground.

"I have to stop finding you this way, you know." purred a familiar voice.

"You're a little over-dressed to be sulking around in these woods, Maenad," he grumbled as he rose and brushed himself off. She looked like she was on her way to a banquet.

"You're looking very well yourself, for a corpse."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know? You're dead! Old Pepin gave you a memorial mass and sent a letter to your father saying you've been murdered. Apparently Savina's betrothed met a monk who gave the killer last rights and told everybody."

"They think I'm…How do you know this? You're supposed to be in exile, too! Where have you been all this time?"

"I intercepted a message while abroad. It had the king's personal seal and everything. I tracked you down to see if it was true, and I see it wasn't. I didn't think a mere assassin would be able to do you in."

"And I was just thinking that things couldn't get any worse."

* * *

They raced through the woods, Johan riding double with Maenad so she could tell him all she knew of the dragons, which she called Houma. He seemed to have lost Peewit in the forest somewhere, and was now frantic to find him. Visibly upset, he relayed what he overheard of Chloderic's scheming. Chloderic who was apparently responsible for everyone he loved thinking he was dead, who had stolen his grandfather's sword, who had made the poison that had nearly killed him, and who was now going to go after the King.

"Do you know where Peewit may have gone? Why did he leave?"

"I don't know. There was an accident with is lute and he blamed me for it." He could hear Maenad snicker behind him.

"Tell me the truth now, it wasn't an accident was it?"

"No. I wasn't. I never thought I'd be sorry I did it."

"Would it help if I sniffed him out? I know his stink like I know yours."

Same old Maenad with her backhanded help. But she was all he had left.

"Lead the way."


	16. Chapter 16: Protection

_I've got a cloak, it's a bit of a joke,  
There's a tear up the front it's red and black  
I've had it for months.  
If you think it could look good, then I guess it should…_

"Wow, Peewit. I never knew a song could sound like that. You say you dreamed it?"

"Could we maybe please discuss something more important, like finding Johan? Papa Smurf said..."

"No way, I haven't gotten to the best part, the chorus! Ahem!"

_You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world,  
I'll give you anything, everything if you want things!_

"We don't have to listen to this for much longer, do we Papa Smurf?"

"His feeling have been hurt, Clumsy, just listen to the song. Think how you smurf when you can't do something well and Brainy gets exasperated."

A wolf howled very close by, making Peewit jump and forget the next verse to his song.

"I know that howl. It's Maenad. But why is she here? You said she was exiled, too."

Papa Smurf's question was answered by the thud of horse's hooves on the frozen ground. The Smurfs climbed up Peewit's cloak and hid, just in case Maenad was leading someone unknown to them.

Their fears were immediately eased when they heard Johan call Peewit's name. Peewit looked less relieved, but his anger over the burned lute was quickly replaced by alarm when he learned about their old enemy's activities. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place when Papa Smurf shared what he had learned about the nature of Chloderic's poison.

"They're poisonous! That's why he wanted them captured alive! That's why he said not to 'milk' them or feed them until he gave the order."

"Do you have any idea how to stop them?"

"The best thing we can do is warn the King before Chloderic and his monks get to the castle. Then, we'll have to take down those dragons."

"You say 'we' will do all these things as if you're going to be allowed to just walk right in through the gates and take charge."

"Oh, don't you worry about Johan being locked up again; everyone in the castle thinks he's dead. They'll all think they saw a ghost." Maenad chimed in, shaking the snow out of her skirts.

"What?"

"That isn't funny, Maenad."

"You may not think it's funny, but being dead will let you move freely if you know how to do it. Take it from someone who's been dead for centuries."

* * *

Savina was in the great hall with her uncle, listening to a minstrel try and lighten the mood with some music. Christmas was only a few days away, and her anger with him and dame Barbara had cooled a bit. Nothing could be done about what happened, and it was Christmas time, after all. The pain was beginning to fade into a constant dull ache, and it showed. She excused herself to get some fresh air. The hall was smoky and stuffy and she was sitting too close to the fire. She stood in the shadow of a wall, wrapped in her cloak though she was barely cold. Footsteps crunched in the snow. She grabbed fallen branch and held it in a defensive position. Delicate condition or not, she still remembered her training.

"Tremaine, it's only you."

"I'm sorry I startled you. I just wanted to keep an eye on you; it's dangerous to be out in the open alone." She made a disgusted face, and turned her back to him.

"Ugh! I don't need a chaperone everywhere I go."

"No, you misunderstand me! I wanted to make sure you were all right. You look so…well, so miserable, if you don't mind my bluntness."

"Wouldn't you be miserable, too? How could you even know how I feel?"

"I can't. That is true. But I cared about him very much, too. Not the same way you did, obviously, but when I found out everything that had happened, well, it was like having to go and arrest a little brother. And when I found out about what Prince Andrew's father did…"

"I don't blame you for that. You were only doing what you were told. I know you've always stood by him."

"Thank you, that means a lot to hear. I just don't want you to be so alone. If you need anything, I'm here for you." He moved closer to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to him and smiled. It had become a rare sight, like seeing the sun break through a cloudy sky.

"Thank you for understanding."

The now relaxed atmosphere was suddenly shattered by an alarm cry from the front gate, and then from all the watchtowers. Tremaine wanted to run, but he was hesitant to leave the princess. A guard named Carl came running to him, clutching a spear.

"Dragons! They're back, three of them this time!"

"_Three_? Good Lord. Go tell the king, and have Prince Andrew report to the main gatehouse. I'll be there as soon as I can." Before she could volunteer to do anything or even protest, Savina found herself scooped up in Tremaine's arms and carried to the inner keep where she would be most safe. She struggled and hit him the entire way.

"Will you please just let someone protect you without making it difficult for once?"

* * *

**Peewit's song is actually one I enjoy hearing, "Bike" by Pink Floyd from 1967. Have a listen to it for some psychedellic strangeness including a duck-call solo. The man who wrote it left the band in 1968 due to mental illness issues. Peewit couldn't get the first verse right, because he has no knowledge of bicycles. ;P**


End file.
